Ashes
by monims
Summary: Set after the events in Empire Strikes back. Shocked by Darth Vader's revelation of his parentage, Luke makes a faithful leap that leads to his early death. Unsettled by his sons death, the dark lord of the sith, is haunted by visions of his long forgotten past, and an uncertain future. Or is he...?
1. Chapter 1

_Blood._

It was everywhere. Splattered onto the pale grey walls, decorating the floor in an erratic pattern of footprints that stained the white tiles red. Standing in a corner, a pair of nurses twitched uneasily, doing their best to avoid looking down at the pale corpse of the doctor, whose body lay sprawled motionless by Vader's feet.

But Vader no longer had eyes for any of them. He stood silently, watching the large crimson puddle that had formed by the foot of the single bunk that occupied the small room. The sight of blood didn't bother him, had never bothered him. But… that stain. Still liquid, barely starting to coagulate at the edges, drew his eyes to it like a tractor beam, holding him captivated.

Behind him someone drew a nervous breath. A loud sound in the eerie silence that permeated the room. It faded quickly. As if its creator knew the danger of making a sound in that moment, even something as timid as a breath. Vader did not turn around. He did not need to see his Stormtroopers to sense their growing uneasiness. It crackled everywhere around him. Of the walls. Bouncing back at him. Into him.

"Leave. "

He spoke the command quietly, his eyes still fixed on the bloody stain. The snap of booted feet was his only answer, briefly breaking the silence. But then they were gone, closing the door behind them, and only the silence remained. Nothing more. Besides the blood that was.

That, and the body. The _other_ body.

Strangely reluctant, Vader at last lifted his eyes to look directly at it. Dressed in pale clothing, it lay sprawled across the cot, one arm at an odd angle, hiding the missing hand from view. More blood coated its tan coloured jacket red, staining the bedding beneath. Though the trickling stream from the body had long since ceased flowing. Just as the heart that had once pumped it, had long since ceased beating.

To avoid stepping in the dark red puddle, Vader halted at a short distance from the cot. Despite the swelling and the bruises forming on his cheeks, the boy had a pleasant face, an honest one. A young face. Though exactly how young, Vader would not dwell on. The boy's dirty blond hair clung to his skull; its strands encrusted with dried blood. Vacant blue eyes stared aimlessly up at the ceiling. Sightless and empty, they did not blink. Regardless, Vader stretched out with his senses probing the still figure gently with the force. Though why he had bothered, he couldn't say. As expected, only nothingness greeted him. No flicker of spirit remained. It was dead flesh.

Just dead flesh.

A display above the bed blinked in a rapid near frantic sequence, drawing Vader's gaze. A large bloody handprint was smeared across it, making the light glow a pale read instead of white. The handprint undoubtedly belonged to doctor, though the blood most certainly belonged to the boy. The doctor had met–if not a less permanent end– a less bloody one for his failures.

Not that any of that mattered now. The boy was just as dead. Vader shifted on his feet, feeling a sudden surge of unexpected agitation. It wasn't like he had _wanted_ the boy to die, now was it? How could he have? Until recently he hadn't even known he _had_ a son.

Sneering he hissed silently, curling his hand into a fist, feeling his metallic knuckles cracking, fury burning raw in his throat. No. None of this was his fault; he had not done this. But Vader knew whose fault the boy's death truly was.

 _Obi Wan._

 _He_ was the one that had done this. _He_ was the one that was truly to blame. If his old master wasn't already dead, Vader would have killed him again for this. Slowly this time. Piece by piece. As Obi Wan had once done him. Then he would have left him behind to burn! To a slow agonising, death. Left him to feel his skin peel off, and crack, feel his insides burn as he lay there inhaling the smell of his own scorched flesh–

Vader stopped the thoughts dead in their tracks with a harsh breath that echoed loudly within his mask. Pushing the raw memories back down. No. He would not go back there again. To that place. It was done. Over. Long ago.

Yet… even now, years later, once again, Obi Wan had taken what was rightfully his, then poisoned the boy against him, his own _father!_ Just like he so long ago had poisoned her…

 _Her._

At that thought some of Vader's fury abruptly left him. Reluctantly his eyes flickered back to his son. For an instant he imagined living blue eyes, so much like his own, staring back up at him accusingly. Yet the curve of the boy's cheek, the small stature, that was all _her._ Dead for years. Yet somehow… here she lay. Only to die again.

Now.

Without thinking, Vader slowly stretched out one gloved hand and gently closed the boy's vacant eyes. Though his touch didn't linger long. Retracting his fingers as soon as the job was done, he abruptly took a step back, letting his arm drop. Then he spun on his heels and headed for the door.

A single Stormtrooper stood outside in the corridor waiting for him.

"Dispose of it," he ordered.

"Yes, my lord," the trooper replied instantly.

But Vader barely noticed. At that moment something flickered at the edges of his awareness, bright and pulsating. He cast a glance over his left shoulder, and for a brief instance he thought he saw a young boy. Hovering besides the cot, head bent over Luke's body.

Vader had taken a single step back towards the door before he stopped himself. Halting he shook his head, blinking. When he looked up again the phantom was gone. There was nothing there. There never had been. It had just been a trick of the light. An illusion.

Vader frowned, inhaling sharply to clear his mind. Perhaps his mask had been damaged in the skirmish with the boy and needed repair. His air supply compromised. He would have to check on that later. He began to turn away again, when he noticed the trail of bloody footprints he had left in his wake. Without realizing it he had stepped in the bloody puddle, and now his boots were coated with blood. Vader's lips curled in disgust, and he had to suppress a sudden urge to wipe them on the floor.

Spinning on his heels he turned on the trooper, hissing low in his throat. "Clean up this mess. Immediately." The troopers helmet bobbed up and down but without waiting for further reply, Vader turned and strode down the corridor. And this time, he did not look back.

* * *

He should not have come. Vader realised that the instant he stepped inside the doorway of the cramped garbage depot. But once set on a course he never faltered. So, he remained where he stood, waiting. Two janitors wearing helmets with large dark visors, had just finished loading the body into the incinerator. The door snapping shut with a loud smack, as in unison they turned to face him, watching him expectantly, their eyes shadowed by their visors and the surrounding gloom. No doubt as surprised by his presence in this gloomy pit, as he was in finding himself there. Vader tilted his head sharply in the direction of the exit. Silently they obeyed his unspoken command and trailed from the room.

Vader slowly crossed the narrow space. The large incinerator took up the entirety of the far wall, droid parts and other refuse lay piled up in heaps along the short walls. Ignoring the garbage, Vader grabbed the lever by the small door in a firm grip. But found himself hesitating when he spotted the unmoving figure laid out inside, visible even through the sooth and grime coating the glass panel.

At the sight of the boy and old emotion surged within him. Deep and unfamiliar. Nearly forgotten. Vader immediately shrugged it off. Pure nonsense. That was what it was. As much nonsense as what had driven him to come here in the first place. The boy was dead. He had no value to Vader anymore. No more so than the discarded parts of droids that lay scattered across the floor. Useless and broken.

Tightening his grip on the lever he pulled with a hard tug, releasing the greedy flames that instantly began to consume his son's flesh.

Letting go he took a step back. His breathing echoed loudly in his ears, his respirator hissing louder than the flames. But for once, he was glad for the accursed mask. So, he couldn't smell the putrid fumes of scorched flesh. Silently he stood in the dark red glow, watching the flickering flames dance. For how long he didn't know. But he stood there until there was nothing left of his son, his child, but a pile of ash. A dark lump of dust. Of nothing. Another piece of _her_ he had destroyed. Only then did he turn around and leave. Walking away from the still hungry flames. By now, he had nothing left for them to consume.

Back in his quarters, the walls of his mediation chamber fell silently around him. Removing his mask, Vader ran a skeletal hand across his bald head. The imprint of his large scar felt rough even to his mechanical fingers. With a flick of his hand, he turned off the light, to stare blindly into the empty darkness. He could still see them there. The flames. Feel them lick against his skin. Taking. Devouring. Consuming. Him.

 _His son._

The strange tight feeling low in his gut returned full force. He squeezed his eyes shut to the sensation. Had he known earlier; he _would_ have convinced his child to join him. And together they would have been unstoppable, too strong to ever be devoured by the flames. Strong enough to defeat the Emperor. _Together._

His mechanical fingers dug painfully into his skull, scraping against his tightly pulled skin. But that could never be. His son had risked death over him. His young face filled with horror, utter revulsion at Vader's revelation. Vader tightened his grip as his head began to throb violently, trying to drown out the image of the mangled remains of a broken boy. A dead boy. Two boys in fact. One he had never known, and one he had tried his hardest to forget. One that so long ago, had known hope.

Vader could no longer remember hope.

Feeling weary suddenly, he closed his eyes. For a moment or hours, he could not say. But then it came, a quiet almost inaudible whisper in his ear. Distant yet close.

 _"Remember."_

Vader snapped his eyes open, all his senses alert in an instant. Only to find that the world around him had shifted. The upper half of his meditation chamber had vanished, and high above him lay only an open sky. Yet it was unlike any sky he had ever seen. Pitch black, with not a single star in sight. The steps of his dome lead down onto a desolate landscape, covered in a thick coating of pale snow. Vader tensed, probing with his senses, only to be met with nothing. The quiet hum of life from the nearby crew of the Executor was gone. He was alone.

Rising to his feet freezing cold air pierced his lungs, making his breath come out in white frosty puffs. Yet it felt easy to breathe. Normal. Nonetheless he donned the mask and the helmet. Illusion, dream, or whatever this was, he didn't trust it. Didn't trust that sooner or later, like they always did, his lungs would falter.

Fastening his cloak and pulling on his gloves, he descended the few steps down onto the ground, the snow crunching beneath his booted feet. The light prickled at his awareness again, somewhere behind him. He spun around, fast enough to send snow flying, only to find the rest of his dome had vanished into thin air. Standing in its place stood a boy. Age nine or eight. Dressed in simple desert garb. The boy did not shiver, apparently indifferent to the biting cold.

Crystalline blue eyes, shimmering like the twinkling white snow met Vader gaze. Vader sucked in a breath as the boy peered up at him with timeless eyes, as old as the stars missing in the sky, peering up at him from within his _own_ face.

"What _are_ you?" he sneered down at it. The sound of his booming voice sounded strange in the unnatural silence, as it echoed back to him from across the icy plains.

 _What. What. You. You. You._ _Are._

The boy with his face began to speak, though not out loud, but as a silent whisper barely audible within Vader's mind. A whisper of a long-forgotten voice.

" _The light_."

Vader scoffed. "What light?" he replied, with as much disdain as he felt for the flimsy pathetic creature standing before him. This pitiful echo of what once was.

The boy cocked his head, staring up at him thoughtfully with all seeing eyes, the voice patient and calm within Vader mind. As if Vader was the child, and the boy the adult.

" _Yours."_

Before Vader could retort to that absurd notion, the apparition vanished, like it had never been. Not even small footsteps in the snow, marked the location where the boy had once stood.

Vader gritted his teeth in frustration, just as the boy reappeared a distance ahead. There was nothing left to do, but to follow the vision wherever it wished to lead him. Even though there were no stars, no moons, the snow shone with a silver light of its own, illuminating the path ahead. Far off in the distance, past where the boy had reappeared, Vader spotted a cluster of trees. The only signs of vegetation in the otherwise bleak landscape.

His boots made deep indentations in the crunching snow as he walked. But he had no feet or hands to feel with. The wind pulled at his cape, but he felt no chill. In fact, he felt nothing at all. Even anger and self-loathing slipped momentarily through his fingers. His thoughts just kept returning to the boy. To his son. _Her_ son.

 _Theirs._

Vader increased his pace, the snow scattering before him as he walked. "Where are we?" he asked impatiently when he caught up with the quiet apparition. But the young child said nothing, just kept moving determinedly towards the trees. Angry Vader tried to grab the boy with the force, but it felt all wrong. Abruptly he stopped walking. It felt unreachable. He who's raw power was rivalled by no one, was cut off. Disconnected.

"What have you done to me?" he snarled, rushing forward. Lifting the boy up by the neck of his tunic, he shook him harshly. But there was no fear in those familiar blue eyes, only resignation.

 _"All that is here, is of your own doing,"_ the boy replied quietly, the voice in Vader's head, sounding far older, then the young face would imply.

Angrily he dropped the boy back down into the snow, unnerved by those eyes. Eyes he knew was his own. The same eyes he had given his son. He pushed that thought away. The boy's death had been unfortunate, nothing more. It did not matter beyond the potential lost. He stared down at his black fingers, curling them into a fist. Vengeance once again slipped from his waiting grip.

Staggering the boy struggled to his feet. Though he still made no footprint in the snow, left no indentation where he had fallen, he now seemed able to feel the cold. His thin desert garb offering only a feeble protection against the icy chill. Shivering he hugged his small body, as he walked on head bent. But when they reached the cluster of tall trees, once again he vanished.

Vader looked around in annoyance. Then ahead of his own boot print he spotted another, much smaller footprint. It was too large to belong to the boy, had he left a print. Besides the boy, it was the first signs of life he had seen. Next to it was a larger, deeper footprint, its gait clearly unsteady, as if hunching or leaning on someone. A trail of blood followed the pair, creating a path of crimson drops in the pure white snow.

Not knowing what else to do, Vader followed the trail, in amongst the tall trees. But there was no one there, no sound of any other living creature. Yet he kept on walking. Halting only as a soft voice cut through the piercing cold night air. It was a woman's voice, gentle and comforting, making soft shushing sounds, like a mother when comforting a young child.

Vader followed the mournful sound past the trunk of a massive tree, where he spotted her, sitting on her knees in the snow. Dressed in white, she cradled, not as he had expected a child in her arms, but the head of a fully-grown man. The man didn't move but lay limply on her lap. Her long grey hair hung loosely about her shoulders, shimmering in the pale light from the snow like silver waves. As he watched she began to sing softly. An ancient lullaby. A gentle croon that rose above the quiet of the starless night.

The sad, melancholy melody, this lament of pure grief, made him pause. Although her voice made no loud echo as his own voice had done, within him it resonated, and grew, echoing with his own deeply buried grief. Without thinking he took another step forward, pushing a branch of a nearby tree out of his way as he moved closer, tugged by some unseen force.

All too soon the song hit a crescendo, before it faltered, ending in a silent heaving sob, as the woman fell forward, hunched clinging to the young man in her arms. Though his armour protected him from the icy cold, Vader's skin prickled. For some unknown reason, he felt like he should know this woman. He felt it down to his very core, deep down into the forgotten places.

Oblivious to him watching, the old woman began to rock back and forth, stroking through the young man's thick black hair with trembling fingers. Old and veiny hands. Worn by the passage of time, by bone shattering grief.

"Shush," she crooned, gently brushing dark strands of hair away from the man's face, exposing a ragged ugly scar across his cheek. "I am sorry, I am so sorry," she repeated, as she continued to rock. "I should have been there. I should have done something! Anything. Please forgive me. I _should_ have been there."

Something inside Vader tightened at her desperate words. The crushing sensation almost like pain.

The old woman kept on pleading, but the young man did not stir no matter how ardently the she pleaded. Vader had seen enough death, to know he would never stir again. Large puffy flakes of snow had begun to fall from the clear cloudless sky. Appearing out of nothing, they fell, creating a white halo in the woman's thick silver hair. The large flakes covered the man's dark clothing with specks of white. But as soon as they fell, they melted, instantly devoured by the dark.

Not long dead then, Vader thought. Not if he was still warm.

Blood pooling just below the body slowly began spreading through the snow. Vader eyed it, for some reason disturbed by its presence. It seemed to grow endlessly, spreading, tendrils of blood stretching outwards, contaminating the snow beneath Vader's boots. He took a step away.

The woman's sobbing breath created white puffs of cold smoke. The boy reappeared behind her, laying a small comforting hand on her frail shoulders, raw grief straining his young features. His features oddly human now, no longer timeless or eternal. Lifting his head, he levelled his gaze at Vader, his small voice echoing inside Vader's skull, hit like an accusation, though the boy's lips didn't move. Nor did the woman seem to notice his tender touch.

 _"We remember. We have not forgotten. We cannot forget. Never."_

Vader frowned behind his mask. "Remember what?" he asked harshly.

The boy didn't answer, but it seemed the woman had noticed Vader at last.

She looked up. When her dark eyes focused on his mask, her features changed, all trace of softness instantly leaching from her face. Ice cold tears stained her cheeks, frozen to her skin. She looked as pale as a corpse. But her dark eyes glinted in sharp contrast to her white skin.

" _You_!" she snarled. There was not a trace of fear on her face, just raw fury. Laying the man's head gently down on the snow, she stiffly rose to her feet. Though it made little difference to him, he still looked down on her.

"You did this!" she repeated, daring to point an angry finger up at _him._ "This is all your fault!" she indicated the man lying dead between them." Tell me this _father,"_ she spat, "haven't you tormented me enough?"

 _Father?_ Vader stiffened slightly at the unfamiliar address. He took a second more thorough look at the old woman. She looked strangely familiar. Something about the stubborn tilt to her chin, her deep brown eyes, made it click within his mind. The princess. Old and worn now, eyes that had once burned fiercely looked dull and empty. But his gaze was drawn to the lightsaber she clutched in her grip, its hilt shining silver. He knew that hilt, its design, the feel of it in his grip. He had thought it lost with the boy. Odd that she of all people should have it.

"He had to die," she stated, "He had to die because he was already dead. But you!" She shook the unlit saber at him. "You are the one that's truly to blame. _You_ did this. All of it!"

Ignoring her tirade, he turned towards his young companion. "Why have you brought me here?" he asked in a drawl, pointing a finger down at the aging princess. " _She_ is nothing to me."

The old princess looked around in confusion, as the young boy shook his head sadly. _"Your heart already knows the answer you mind refuses to acknowledge. Search your feelings and you will know the truth."_

Truth? What truth? Vader stared absently down at the old woman again, she was practically shaking with fury at him now. Her previously dull eyes blazing raw hatred so intense that for an instance even he was surprised by it. By the fierceness of her posture. Though he could snap her like a twig easily enough.

The apparition shook its head again, a blond lock falling into his young face. " _Once she was everything to you. Her and her mother."_

He frowned at the implication. The impossibility. "There was only one!" he exclaimed; his throat suddenly very dry. "And he is ash!" The last word came out to harshly. Almost like a shout.

Startled the old princess dared to glance behind her, at whomever he was shouting at. But he could see by her expression she saw nothing. No one.

Dark amber eyes returned their focus to him instead. And he saw _her_ again. This time not on his son's face, but on the woman's proudly titled chin, her flashing dark eyes. _Father,_ she had called him. No, it could not be. It was impossible.

Yet somehow, he knew it wasn't.

"A _daughter_ ," he said, and as he spoke the words, he knew them for truth. Elation spread though him. In truth she still lived somewhere, did she not? This other child of his. And all he had to do was find her! Then he would have his vengeance at last. Her power would be his, at last it would all be _his._

The boy began to weep. Childlike now. The aging princess stared up at Vader as if he was mad. Then to his surprise, she ignited the saber and lifted her blade to strike. Instinctively he lifted his own in response, deflecting her silly blow hard enough to send the saber flying from her grip. It landed beneath a tree; the hilt swallowed by the snow.

Eager he reached forward to grab her. To his surprise she came for him, unarmed, teeth bared, her hands like claws. Was the crazed phantom going to try to rip him apart with her bare hands? She was insane. Yet… determined and strong. All useful traits, he thought with satisfaction as he caught her slim, trembling wrists with triumph. But it was a short-lived triumph, because as soon as he touched her, she dissolved. Turning into a cloud of black ash that spread across the red coloured snow. The body of the other man no longer anywhere to be seen.

Instantly the world around Vader went black. The endless dark sky swallowing him hole as he tumbled forward into inky black darkness

"No!" he roared as he rushed forward into nothing. The echo that hit him deafening. Then he was standing on sand. The world around him now hot and unforgiving. Yet it was dark. No sun. No moon. No stars. Only a single red blinking display lit up a bunk. And beneath it, the blood coloured sand.

Only a cot, darkness in every direction, as far as the eye could see. Blinding him to all but the body. His throat closed as he stared down at it. For it wasn't the boy as he had expected. In the place where he had once lain, lay a different body. _Hers._ Padme's dead body. Limp and lifeless. Laid out for burial. As beautiful as she had been in life. Yet empty. Dead. As dead as the boy. As dead as their _child._

Her blue dress pooled around her like water. Like an endless ocean. The train of the long dress lay draped across the blood, at his feet. Vader drew a ragged breath. A pressure tightened in his chest, and he staggered back a step, not prepared for the sheer intensity of the illusion.

She looked so real, so lifelike. Peaceful, as if she was just sleeping, and would wake any moment, if he only dared to reach out and touch her, nudge her awake. Her hands rested on her full belly, as if only moments before she had been rubbing it gently, love shining in her eyes. Love for him, for their unborn child.

No. He shook his head. Their unborn _children._

Taking a small almost unwilling step forward, he stared down at her with a longing he dared not name. It ached, to remember. But lifting one unsteady hand, he felt nothing as he trailed his fingers across a cheek he knew was as cold as the grave. She would not wake, not ever again. She would never again stretch sleepily and offer him one of her gentle smiles.

A thin young voice spoke, from the surrounding darkness. A silent whisper penetrating into his very soul.

"Our Angel is dead. _We_ killed her."

Vader snatched his hand away, taking another step back; heart pounding. _No. Just no._

The boy reappeared, emerging from the shadows on the other side of the cot. Clutched in one small hand he held out the japor snippet. By now its childlike markings had faded to nothing more than dull scratches. As faint and weak as the boy that had once carved them.

Vader looked away from the small trinket and back down at her face. Once so long ago he had told her, that it would bring her good fortune. But all it had brought her in the end, was devastation, death, betrayal. _His_ betrayal. His chest seized. The endless, bottomless pain once again hitting him full force. For it was still there. Even after all these years.

As he watched, the boy reached out small hand towards Padme, and did what Vader could not, trailed a human finger across human skin. If Vader closed his eyes, he could almost feel it. Beyond the pain, beyond the numbness, and the grief. The softness of her skin. The burning undying love he had felt for her, every time he had looked at her.

The boy's blue eyes rose to meet his. Lifting a hand, he opened the small clenched fist that held the snippet. But it didn't fall onto the sand. Instead it floated in the air, moving above Padme's body until it reached him. Angrily he snatched it, crushing it in a harsh grip. Wanting, needing to break it into a million pieces, just like the empty promise that it represented. But no matter how hard he clenched, it refused to shatter.

The boy only stared up at him, unblinking. Until Vader looked away, closing his eyes, reaching into the nothingness for the fury that would keep him going. Within him, the love he had once felt was only flames, all consuming. Devouring everything and everyone in its path.

The boy said nothing more. There was nothing more to say. So, they stood together in silence for a while. When Vader opened his eyes again, he was once again back in his meditation chamber. The familiar sounds of the ship humming in the background, the feel of the life of his crew all around him. As the light clicked on, he opened his tightly clenched fist. Finding it contained ash.

Only ash.

Vader twisted his hand letting it all fall. Feeling the nudge in the force. The call he had been waiting for. Rising he once again left his chamber, the ground beneath his feet solid and real.

The disembodied head soon appeared in the air just above him. He knelt as he always did. "And?" The Emperor asked but his voice gave away nothing. Vader almost scoffed. Why did he bother to ask? Vader had no doubt he already knew. "The boy is dead."

The emperor nodded solemnly. "A pity." His voice was a long-drawn drawl.

Vader tasted the metallic tang of blood, but he didn't speak. He had nothing left to say.

The Emperor tilted his head. "You must continue you task in chasing down the rebels of course."

So easily the boy was forgotten. So easily he was discarded. Just like Anakin had been. Vader lifted his head to gaze at the only face in the galaxy as ugly as his own. "I will hunt them to the end. Master." His daughter would not escape him. He thought silently to himself. No where she ran would be far enough. Only one place was far enough, a dead voice whispered. Only in death would he not follow.


	2. Chapter 2

The twin suns had already begun to set by the time Vader arrived on Tatooine. The sky above, although alight in shades of deep dark blues and crimson, was overlaid by the heavy feeling of an oncoming sandstorm. And Vader knew that soon the air would be little more than a tumult of sand and dust. But for the moment the desert lay quiet.

In the dusk the white dome of the abandoned homestead stood shadowed and alone against the oncoming dark. Vader kept his gaze firmly fixed on its burnt and chipped surface. Never once did he gaze beyond it, towards the grave he knew lay hidden in the distance. The few bitter memories he had of this desolate place only more poison in his already tainted veins.

The charred entryway lay visible in the light from the red moon. Entering the courtyard below he could see that homestead had long since been raided, what of value taken, the rest ripped apart and scattered across the sand. A few small critters sniffed the air curiously as he passed. But Vader ignored them, his focus was on one thing alone. The _boy_ had been here, his very presence stained this place.

That thought rattled. That his son had been here all along. So close. So very close. The sense of the old betrayal rose low in his throat, but Vader shoved it firmly back down. It was over. He'd had his vengeance. On all of them. Turning he headed instead up a set of steps, a heavy feeling tightening in his chest when he found what no doubt had been the boy's bedroom. As expected, sand had long since made its entry into what had once have been a clean room. Tidy and well kept. An old blanket lay tossed on the floor. Among the mess lay the shattered model of an X-wing. Little more than a child's toy.

Turning away from the discarded toy, Vader kneeled on the dirty ground and waited.

After what felt like an eternity a soft light seeped into the room, at first vague and indistinct. When he looked up, he wasn't surprised to see the apparition standing on the floor in front of him, holding the broken x-wing in its small hands. Carefully and with skill it began refastening a broken wing, meticulously repairing the toy ship.

Every single night since the boy's death, it had come for him. The visions sometimes the same, sometimes different, tormenting him with what had been, what could have been, but all of them leading him back here, to the desert. The wasteland that had shaped his youth. And apparently that of his own son.

"Why have you brought me here?" he asked through gritted teeth. Holding himself back from the desire to reach out and throttling the thing. If it was even possible. "What is it that you _want_?"

Ignoring Vader, the boy patiently finished his task. When he was done, he lay the now intact X-wing carefully down on the bed. Turning slowly, he at last faced Vader. His voice in Vader's head as clear as ice.

" _What I want?"_ The boy looked rather puzzled by the question. " _I think the question is, what do you want_?"

Without thinking Vader gaze flickered back to the discarded X-wing, laying on a dusty blanket, its owner never again coming home. What he wanted he could not name, he had long since stopped wasting time on the pointless. He narrowed his eyes up at the apparition. An unwanted intrusion in his life, "What I _want_ ," he hissed, "is you gone." _And to find his daughter._ Though those particular words he did not speak aloud.

But somehow the boy heard them regardless. His small body hunched slightly inwards, and he looked away from Vader, back towards the small X-wing, something akin to longing written on his young face. He shook his head sadly. _"She will die. She will die, like they all die_."

Something about the way the apparition spoke had Vader was on his feet in an instant, but before he could reach it, the apparition had vanished only to reappear at the other side of the room.

"Where is _she_?" his demanded, as a growing suspicion began to form. "You know, don't you?"

The apparition did not bother to answer him. Instead it began to wander aimlessly around the small room, touching items at random. Studying them carefully. Before putting them back. Gently. Gritting his teeth Vader took a step closer crushing the back of a chair in his grip. "Tell me!"

The boy finally turned, blue eyes glowing dimly in the growing darkness. " _Let her go."_

It was a warning, Vader knew. And with the memory of Padme`s body now so fresh in Vader`s mind, the choice of those specific words almost made him hesitate. Almost. But Vader did not let them stop him. Nothing could stop him. "Tell me!" he demanded again.

The apparition gazed at Vader for a long time. Then its blue eyes glinted. Suddenly harsh no longer childlike. Its eyes went past Vader to the closed door behind him and sighed heavily. " _So be it._ "

Then it abruptly vanished, taking the light with it, and this time Vader knew it would not return. By now darkness had descended completely leaving the room in shadows.

Vader lit his lightsaber, and walked over to the bed, his dark fingers carefully grazing one of the four wings, that gave the starfighter its name. It was intact. Even now, after the apparition had faded, it remained intact. Vader frowned. Delusions. Illusions. Phantoms, or whatever this was, it could not do this. Shouldn't be able too. At first, he had thought, the apparition had been a minor trick of the light, nothing more. A suit malfunction, from his fight with the boy, visions brought on by prolonged oxygen deprivation. But this, this was something else entirely.

He spread his fingers wide, clutching the small body of the star fighter in his palm. Slowly his fingers began to tighten, as he caught a vague image of a young laughing boy playing with it beneath the twin suns, seated on the sandy ground. His face lit with triumph as he won an imaginary space battle.

Vader tried not to picture Padme seated beside him, smiling softly as she watched him play. She would have done that, Vader knew. No matter where in the galaxy they had lived. On the fertile planes of Naboo or on the dirty ground of sand and dust that was Tatooine. No matter where, she would have sat down with their children in the sand. She would have nurtured and loved them. Protected them from all the monsters of this galaxy until they were old enough to protect themselves.

Monsters like him.

What he certainly didn't do, was imagine himself joining them. Imagine the feel of the wind brushing against his unmasked face. Him taking the ship from the boy to illustrate how the engine worked and how to fix most minor problems. Like every pilot should know. No not that, never that. Vader didn't look down but felt the moment the X-wing shattered beneath his palm.

The storm was roaring outside now. The wind gushed above the crater but even down here, the sand was stirring. The sand darkened the sky even further making it hard to see. Its eddies' having erased his footprints, but faint new ones now disturbed the sand. Someone had arrived while he had been inside. Small footprints. But the steps were far apart as if the person had been running. Vader turned from his current course to follow the rapidly fading footprints. He headed up a set of steps. Into a long narrow corridor that led to another room. Protected from the roaring wind. He opened the door entering quietly

In this room he saw signs of current occupation, a cup sat discarded on the sideboard, a fresh blanket on the bed, a neat stack of clothes on a chair. Someone was squatting here, desecrating his sons' home. For some reason that irked him. His hand tightened on the saber he was still holding, no longer lit.

But Vader halted when he spotted her, the anger he had felt brewing at whoever dared squat in his son's home dying instantly.

For there she was. Sleeping. Stretched out on her side, resting her head on one arm, her hair in a long thick braid that caressed her cheek. Fully dressed, as if she had intended only to rest for a moment and had fallen asleep despite herself.

Standing silently in the shadows Vader studied her.

Her mother had done that to. That thought was distant, as distant as the wind, yet moving closer the longer he lingered. It was too dark to make out at her face, but he saw her eyes, the moment they opened. Saw the unbridled terror filling them, as she screamed. But this time when he caught her, she did not vanish.

Yet she fought him. Fought him like a wild creature fights for survival. Kicking out with her legs, all the while desperately clawing at his armour. Given half the chance he was sure she would have bitten him. Unarmed her blaster on the sideboard, she fought with the only weapon she had. Herself. But in the end, it was not nearly enough. Eventually he lost his patience and hit her hard across her face. Her head snapped to the side and she feel to her knees with a groan.

"Vile creature!" she spat, cradling her cheek in her palm as she glared up at him. He cut her off midsentence by pulling her to her feet by the neck of her shirt.

"Cease struggling or I'll be forced to harm you even further."

Limp as a rag doll and clearly dazed from the blow but with eyes burning with raw fury, she blinked up at him. And to his utter surprise she smiled. A smirk filled with loathing. "Wouldn't want to force you to do anything, my lord." She mocked before she kicked at him again. He tightened his grip. That made her gasp for air. He relented a little. No matter what the apparition insinuated he wanted her no permanent harm.

Holding her still he called for his transport. Eager to know if his men had finished the other errand that had brought him back to this desolate wasteland.

He brought her back to the Executor. Now he sat down across opposite to her, folding his hands on the table between them. Teeth bared, she snarled up at him, her dark eyes never leaving his mask. But he sensed no true recognition behind her steely gaze. It seemed she was as oblivious of her connection to Luke as she was of her connection to him. The latter part was no surprise, the former however was intriguing.

As he watched she tried to rip free from her restraints, until she visibly shook from the strain. Hissing as if she wanted to go straight for his throat. But it was pointless. He had her now, finally, after months of searching. Destiny delivering her to him.

"Murderer," she snarled out the words, leaning a little closer eye flashing. When he said nothing, she went on. "I should have known. Of course, Alderaan wasn't enough. Not even taking Han was enough," her voice began to tremble slightly, the grief in it palatable. But it did not break. "No, you had to kill Luke as well!"

 _Luke_. Vader shook the unwanted name out of his head. He didn't want to think about Luke. "I did _not_ ," he replied flatly. "His foolish actions killed himself. And as for the other part, that can be easily remedied."

She laughed harshly, her fingers like claws on the table as she leaned towards him, hissing." Tell that to Alderaan!"

Vader gritted his teeth at his own foolish blunder. He had known the accursed planet was going to pose a problem between them. "I wasn't taking about Alderaan," he amended quickly, "but of your other matter, that which can still be remedied." He turned his palms out towards her, as if giving an offering. "With a little assistance, of course."

Her head came up when she caught his meaning, she narrowed her eyes. "And am I supposed to believe that _you_ would help me?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Sure."

He simply shrugged. "Yes."

She didn't he could tell. But she looked away. Was that grief he saw in those fiery dark eyes? Good. Grief he could work with. He knew its poison.

He rose and went over to her. Unable to help himself, he caught her jaw between his fingers and thumb, tilting her head back. Angry dark eyes flashed up at him as she struggled, her jaw clenched hard enough, that even his prosthetic could feel it. He took in her features then, for the first time ever. Not just a brief glance and a quick dismissal. But he truly looked at her. What he saw made his hand twitch.

She tried to jerk her head back, but he only tightened his hold. "Get your hands of me!" she hissed, drawing her lips drawn back in an angry snarl.

"So angry," he mused with satisfaction, "A useful tool when used correctly. A weapon even."

She went suddenly still in his grip. Lips curling, her eyes lifted, and she meet his gaze head on. "If anger alone was enough to kill Lord _Vader_ ," she said coolly, "you would already be _dead_!"

He almost smiled. Oh, she was his alright. Perhaps in some ways, more so then the boy. All fire and righteousness. A recipe for disaster. Or with the right teacher, greatness.

"I might have been," he conceded. "If you knew how to use it correctly."

She looked a little confused at that, dark brows drawn together in a small frown. A very familiar frown. His hand tightened. Realising only belatedly that touching her might have been a mistake.

It may have been brief, but he had felt it regardless. A flicker of an unwanted memory. This was her. The child whose forceful kicks he had once felt pulse against his human palm. She sneered again, doing her best to mask her fear and confusion with anger. He could have told her it was pointless, he felt it anyway. Abruptly he let her go. Taking a step back, he instead released her cuffs with a snap of his fingers.

She rubbed her wrists, eying him suspiciously. He turned his back to her. "I have _acquired_ something of yours."

He heard her get to her feet. Moving about. No doubt looking for a weapon to kill him with. Little did she know the greatest weapon she possessed, she carried within herself.

"You have nothing I want!"

He swung back to face her. "Don't I?" he drawled. "Not even a particularly hideous wall decoration?"

She went silent. A barely audible intake of breath betraying her interest. Or perhaps he had imagined it. Her emotions, however, were impossible to mistake. A brief flicker of eagerness. Though she quickly suppressed it.

"Walk with me," he said indicating for her to walk beside him. She did follow but kept her distance. He could feel her penetrating glare at the back of his neck.

"What have you done with Han?" she asked sharply. It came out more like a demand than a question.

"He is safe... for now, "he replied over his shoulder, as they headed from the cramped cell into the corridor. They walked together until they reached another room. She gasped when she saw the large slab of carbonite leaning up against the wall. She rushed over to it. Then spun back to face him, long braid flying.

"Release him at once," she demanded.

He folded his arms. "Now why would I do that? After all, I put him in there in the first place."

She blew out a breath eying him suspiciously. Her fury palpable. Yet she stood her ground. He felt oddly pleased at that. Impressive. But then he did seem to recall that she was a brave one. Her eyes followed him intently as he walked around her and over to the slab. Chest heaving, she looked like a small trapped animal preparing to pounce.

"Although I _could_ be persuaded to release him," he said casually, laying one gloved hand on the slab, tapping it gently. "Given the right incentive."

She stared from him to the slab and back again, her eyes narrowing. "If you think that I will give you anything you are insane!"

Letting his hand drop he turned as if to leave. "Very well, I shall return him to Jabba, then shall I?"

Her mouth tightened as she turned to stare down at the slab, at her lover. She held her chin high but was unable to hide the brief flicker of grief in her eyes.

Another set of eyes flashed before him at the sight. _Dark eyes filled with grief. Weeping. Pleading._ Not wanting to look at her anymore Vader turned from her to look out the viewport instead. Hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at the stars. Endless. Ancient. Unforgiving.

"I will not give up the rebels," she said it firmly, but he heard the slight hesitation, the brief tremble in her voice." Not even for Han."

Ah, not like her brother, then was she? More likely to sacrifice her friends for her cause, a little more ruthless perhaps. Or was she? He turned back to face her, nodded to one of his men, who hurried over to the carbonite slab, and began instigating the release sequence. Leia drew a sharp breath, moved to follow but he held her back, catching her by one slim shoulder. She scowled, but didn't fight him, just watched the slab wearily. Eyes intent.

When it was over, the smuggler collapsed onto a heap on the floor with a groan. Trembling and shaking. At his expression of pain, Leia shrugged off Vader's hand and rushed over to him. This time, he let her go. She fell to her knees by Solo's head murmuring soft reassurances to him. Vader trailed after, towering over them. She had lifted Solo's head into her lap and was stroking his damp hair with strong yet small hands. Unmarred by time. By grief. Still, somehow it was eerily familiar to his vison.

"On your word I will summon the medical droid," he stated.

Visibly trembling, Solos blind eyes searched the room for him. Then he groaned. "Princess, please tell me that isn't who I think it is?"

She lay a protective hand on Solo's shoulder, scowling up at Vader. "I am afraid it is."

Solo muttered beneath his breath, clearly confused. "Still, here is he?" He began rubbing his eyes confusion fading into worry. "Hey... why can't I see?"

"Or…" Vader continued, ignoring the smuggler's ramblings, he clasped his hands behind his back. "I could have them…" he indicated his men with a tilt of his helmet, "toss him out the nearest airlock."

Solo grumbled a feeble protest, trying but failing to rise.

Letting go of Solo, Leia rose to her feet before Vader. Chin held high. "You may toss us both out then. I will not give up on the rebels, and neither will Han."

"Hang on, wait a minute there, princess," the smuggler began, but Leia ignored him, glaring at Vader she put her body between him and Solo. Though not looking so eager to die as her words would imply. He had seen the way she looked at the smuggler. Overheard her declaration of affection on Bespin but had thought nothing of it. It hadn't mattered to him then. But it did now. For some reason she truly loved this smuggler. Good. Love was a weakness. A weakness that could be exploited.

"I do not want your rebel friends," he replied curtly. At least not for now. Soon, when she was truly his, they could deal with them together. But not yet. Not until she was ready.

She frowned a little, drawing her brows together. Vader denied the sensation it caused in his gut. Though he hadn't seen it the first time they had met, now he saw it every time he looked at her.

It didn't matter. Her vague similarity to Padme, was irrelevant. Nothing more.

"Yet…" she bit back, indicated the sterile room around them with one hand, " I somehow doubt you brought us here for the pleasure of your company."

"Your time here need not be unpleasant," he retorted, tilting his head again. Two of his men came rushing forward, catching the smuggler by his arms, hauling him to his feet. Staring up at Vader they awaited further instructions.

Vader looked down at Leia, she was chewing hard on her bottom lip, anxious yet stubborn. The smuggler tried to struggle but was still far too weak, and he saw his daughter eye the blaster carried by one of his men.

"Attempting anything would be pointless, "he warned her. "You know this."

She turned her scowl back at him. "Perhaps, but I would rather die trying."

She would, wouldn't she? He wasn't about to risk _that_ again. He nodded to his men. "Take him to the medbay and have them tend to his injuries."

Her brief flicker of surprise faded quickly, straightening she eyed him sharply, her keen eyes filled with distrust. "Whatever it is you are scheming, it won't work."

Before he could reply to that the smuggler made his move, pretending to falter as Vader's' men began to drag him away. And somehow, he managed to grab a blaster from one of the men, tossing it blindly in the direction of the princess. She moved lightning quick.

Not quick enough for Vader of course, yet he let her catch it. Curious to see what she would do next. To see what she was capable of.

Catching it deftly, she held the blaster high, aiming it directly up at him. Though she must have known the futility of such an act, her hand didn't not so much as tremble. Her brows furrowed in concentration.

Vader remained calm, keeping his distance. "Do not make me harm you again child."

She didn't even let him finish before she fired her first blast. He blocked it easily with one hand. Freezing the blast mid-air. Ahead one of his men punched the smuggler in the gut, decapacitating him, as he once again tried to break free from his captors.

Leia snorted. "Child? I'm a no child. And forgive me if I don't extend you the same curtesy." She fired another blast. He deflected again. Easily enough. He saw the tightening of her jaw as the realisation of just who had truly had the power here dawned. But he also saw her determination as she shook her fear off. He saw her strength. Her fury. Good. Rage would only make it easier.

"That _thing_ ," he said with disdain aimed at the blaster she was clutching, "is _nothing_ compared to your true potential." He took one small step toward her, his voice increasing in pitch. Eagerness building within him. A once dead spark of life bursting into life. They could have it all. Together they could have it all. Vengeance. Power. His child with him at last. "You want vengeance? _I_ can give you vengeance."

Leia took a step back, nostrils flaring. "I will have my vengeance when you are _dead!_ " she spat. Straightening her shoulders, she aimed her blaster again. "And your _precious_ empire lays in ashes."

"To be replaced by what?" he taunted, taking another step following her retreat, "A true and just republic?" He didn't bother to keep the sarcasm from his voice. "You are not truly that naive, are you?"

She blinked at that. A slight hesitation, before she lifted her chin, "Enough of this nonsense." She tightened her grip and fired again.

His patience at end he pulled the blaster from her grip with the force hard enough, that she staggered forward a step before she caught herself and let it go. He sent the blaster flying into the wall with a smack. Leia stared after it wide eyed, but quickly collected herself, turning to him with another glare before scanning the room for another easily accessibly weapon, finding none.

"I agree," he concurred keeping his gaze fixed on her, "enough of this nonsense."

She backed away true fear written on her face as he prowled closer. Why it bothered him he couldn't say. He had practically terrified the boy, beaten him, and felt very little. Nothing he corrected himself. He _had_ felt nothing. No hesitation. No regret. No nothing.

"You are being foolish girl. Cease this nonsense, and I might consider letting your smuggler leave unharmed. Perhaps I'll even let him keep the dust bucket you call a ship."

She looked uncertainly down at the injured smuggler. His had continued to fight valiantly, but Vader's men had dealt with him. And now he lay sprawled on the floor groaning. Ignoring Vader completely, she whispered at her lover. "I am so sorry."

The smuggler lifted his head and offered a faint smile in her general direction, clearly pain stricken, it was not a convincing one. Then he shrugged. "It had to end one day sweetheart. Might as well go out fighting."

His daughter returned the smile, with a small one of her own. Her expression softening. There was warmth in that look. Love. So tangible he could almost feel it. Vader remembered a time when someone had looked at him like that. He remembered looking at Padme like that. He pushed those memories firmly away, raising his voice, at the same time he waved to his men to keep their distance.

"He may leave," he said, interrupting their little interlude, wanting her attention back on him. "If you stay, he may leave. I give you my word." And he would keep it he realised. Which was absurd. Or was it? He needed her to trust him, if only a little. And she would forget the smuggler soon enough. He would make sure of that.

Her head snapped up to his. Expression only hostile now. Her loathing for him obvious. "I would no more trust you word, then I would that of a snake," she hissed as she drew back. Vader opened his mouth to say more, but at that moment the apparition chose to materialize by her left shoulder. Vader stiffened at the sight. The boy's pale outline was flickering, and he looked almost transparent.

As the boy became more solid, he brought with him the whispered remnants of an icy wind, that sent an unexpected shiver down Vader's spine. The familiar warning sense of danger.

The apparition turned around to stare at Leia sorrow flashing in its blue eyes. " _Leia_ ," The voice whispered sadly in Vader's head, as the phantom reached out a pale hand towards her. The boy's face fell when it passed straight through. Leia gasped, shivering visibly, her head snapped around, but she clearly saw no one.

"What was that?" she hissed before returning her focus on Vader. Clearly thinking he was the one responsible. "Stop that at once!" she demanded.

Vader stared at the boy. The boy caught him watching, slowly he walked over to Vader halting just in front of him. Crystalline eyes shimmered as the boy shook his head in disapproval. " _Still you do not learn. Still you do not understand_." He lifted his blue gaze, resignation written on his face. " _So still you will pay_."

The momentary distraction had been enough for Leia. She had managed to grab the blaster from the floor, with determination she shot two of his men, before facing Vader again.

"I will not fall for your nonsense tricks and witchery," she said coolly, aiming her blaster directly at his face. He shook out of his daze, straightening.

She did not give up this one. A flash of pride hit him at her tenacity.

Leia appeared oblivious to the apparition, who just stood there watching silently. Mouth tight she frowned a little, backing away until she reached the smuggler, eyes never leaving Vader, she helped him up. They began to walk backwards, away from him, the smuggler leaning heavily on Leia's shoulder, blood seeping from a tear in his lip. She held upright but the strain of the added weight was showing on her face. When Vader followed, she pushed the smuggler behind her. Shielding him with her small body. "You will not harm him." Beaten and blind the smuggler could do little but protest.

 _Him._ So, she worried for her lover not herself.

He halted just in front of the doomed pair. "Love is a weakness," he told her then. Surprising them and himself with his words.

She scoffed, looking him over, utter revulsion written on her face. The same revulsion he had seen in his sons' eyes, the moment Vader had told him the truth. A truth that had appalled him enough he had leapt risking his own death. So disgusted had he been. Vader licked his dry lips, feeling a sudden urge to twitch beneath her obvious disgust.

" _Love,"_ she scoffed again, "And what would a _thing_ like you know about love?"

Something?

Everything.

 _Nothing?_

Padme face came to him then, as white as a shroud superimposed on their daughter. His breathing went a little ragged. Another illusion. Brushing of the sensation he straightened, but he had been to preoccupied with his hallucinations, and the girl to pay any head to his men, as more came rushing into the room, probably drawn by the sound of blaster fire. Seeing their fallen comrades, they began to shoot. Red blasts flying everywhere.

Vader immediately shouted out the command to cease fire, holding up one gloved hand. As one they obeyed, but it was far too late. He had stopped many bolts dead in their tracks, but one bolt had already hit its intended mark. Hurling forward he caught her as she fell, sinking to his knees. She winced in pain; her eyes glassy as her limp hand dropped the blaster onto the floor with a clunk. _Death_ there it was again. So familiar. So unstoppable. Padme's brown eyes blinked up at him, confused and in pain.

 _No. Not this again._

That last living part him, that tiny sliver that remained of his soul reached for her. Trying to pull her back from the brink. Back to him. But as always it was pointless. His power could not mend anything. Nothing. No one. Not himself. Nor her.

Her eyes widened a fraction. And the girl somehow truly saw him then, felt him beyond a mere touch. That steady pulsing kick of his memory. What had then been a newly formed force presence, the one he had felt all those years ago, yet older now, reached out and tentatively touched him in return. As he had once touched her, and her brother while the lay protected safely in their mother's womb. A tiny inquisitive nudge though the force. The only way he had truly touched her then. Either of them. And now ever would. Before the joy of a child had drowned in a sea of terror. And he had lost everything anyway.

She gasped and to his utter surprise lifted an unsteady hand to touch his mask, confusion written on her strained features. Pain racked her slight body. Her breathing harsh, failing a little more with every haggard breath she took.

Frozen to the spot he allowed her to touch him. "Leia," he said her name then, perhaps for the first time ever. He couldn't honestly remember. People were nothing to him. Had been nothing for so very long. "Leia," he repeated.

Her eyes widened. Almost black now. Almost gone. Fading. _Grief._ The melody he had heard her sing in his vision hummed within his mind, is melancholy enveloping him. He knew its song. Every single accursed note.

She frowned a little. " _Who_ are you?" she asked on a breath, as her voice grew ever fainter.

He hesitated. His lips dry. The words distant. The pain to close. "I..." he began just as her hand dropped limply back down. Death close now. As always, its endless claws took everything. Everyone.

Everyone, except him

"Too late," he whispered in reply. His once deep voice hollow. He felt her breath leave her as her head fell back, and then she was gone. The last flicker left of Padme's light in the galaxy at last extinguished. Fury and grief, he hadn't known himself still capable of flooded him, filling every cavity of his being, as he tightened his grip on her frail form pulling her to him.

All around him, items inside the room began to shake slightly. Cracks appearing in hull. Lines began to crisscross the viewport. Enough so the automatic system drew down the shutters. The stars vanishing from sight. But it didn't matter. The stars that had once offered his hope of freedom, now felt more like a prison all around him.

There was a pressure inside his chest. Raw and hard. He turned to his men. Confused and fearful they eyed him in wearily. The Stormtroopers mask as blank as always. But somehow, they knew. They knew. Though not why death came for them. But not him. Never him. Though he had died twice over death never came. Like he had once done his mother he lay his daughter gently down on the floor, and stiffly rose to his feet.

He grabbed for his lightsaber as he calmly walked towards them. Only one tried to run. But he didn't make it far before his leg froze beneath him. Held by the steely force of Vader's raw power.

Within him, the whispers of a child's voice, that echo of what once was, whimpered. But he? He roared.

He lifted his blade. Red like flame. Then he slaughtered them. All of them. Every single one.

Behind him the smuggler shouted, screamed. Crawling broken legged across the ground, shouting Leia's name. Ignoring him, Vader turned back and picked up his child. Her head hung limply across one of his arms. Her long brown hair a scattered mess pulled free from her long braid.

He began walking and kept on walking until he reached his shuttle. Word on what he had done had already spread because his crew eyed him more wearily than usual. He dismissed them all. Flying the shuttle himself. Numb he lay her across the floor, there was nowhere else to put her.

Not knowing why or even where he was going, he took off.

When he had first become trapped within the suit, he had often had outburst like these. Lashing out. Killing. But years of self-control. A promise to not be so easily defeated due to rashness and arrogance, had eventually tempered that. But now inside him the flame once again burnt to bright. Wanting to break free. To devour and consume. To destroy. There was only one place he felt at home now. Only one place that knew his fire. That understood it. That understood him. So, he flew, drawn to the place that defined him.

Mustafar. Time passed by in a blur. But all too soon the red planet came into view.

Abandoning the shuttle, he carried her. He didn't know why. Didn't even know where. But when he finally looked up from his wanderings, he realised in some ways that it should have been obvious. That he would take her here. To his end. His beginning.

He stood atop the lava bank. Though the years had redirected most of the flow, it was the same one. The same spot. That same lava that had devoured his legs. His hopes. His very soul.

The cape flickered around him as he stared down into her face. Pale death. Cruelty. Perhaps he had come here to toss her in. Perhaps that was it. But somehow his arms refused to relinquish their steely hold. This strange impulse to cradle, to pull close, to protect, a long-forgotten foreigner in his mind.

She weighed nothing. She was nothing. Yet he held her all the same. The fire he had seen in her eyes was gone. Burnt out, never truly allowed to blaze. Like her brother she had been too young to die. Too young to have truly lived.

He lifted his head to the sky. He had seen the same view a thousand times. A million. In his mind's eye. In meditation. Sometimes even standing in this very spot. But now? Now somehow it seemed new. High above them on the horizon the sun was rising. Was it dawn? He didn't know. He didn't care. The sun on Mustafar was a dismal thing. Its white glow could not compete with the surrounding red gloom, and its shadows. Yet still it shone stubbornly. Everyday. Without fail. Oh, how he hated it.

He stepped further down the bank, until what remained of the lava flow lapped greedily at his boots. But it could not hurt him now. Nothing could. He meant to let her go. To let her sink into that churning heat. But still his arms refused to let her go, holding on just a little longer.

"Did you truly not know then?" he asked her. "Did you know nothing of your brother? Him nothing of you?" There was no reply of course. Yet he went on. "Your _thieving_ adoptive father must have known." He hissed the word out. _He_ was her father, not Bail. She was his, she had always been his! They both had been. Not that it mattered now. His hands twitched on her still form, fingers digging painfully into her cold flesh. For it must be cold by now, not that he could feel it, he could feel nothing. Nothing at all. "Those thieves," he hissed up at the pathetic sun. As if the dead themselves could hear him. " _They_ left you ignorant. _They_ left you weak. "

He didn't know where the words came from, but they came anyway. More words then he usual spoke. To anyone. " _I_ would not have left you _weak_. So, easily vanquished."

There was no denying the strength of her spirit. He had seen it in her eyes. Both in her and in the boy. But their ignorance to their birth right had left them vulnerable. He would not have permitted that. Never.

Yet he had caused her death, had he not? When he finally after months of searching at last had her in his grip. He had broken her. Because he was still a fool it seemed. He had acted emotionally. Once again leading to his utter failure. All due to his pride and arrogance.

Perhaps it was because of the boy's untimely death lingering on his mind, or perhaps it was because she was a girl. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. In some ways it had been easier with the boy. But with the girl, now that he knew the truth, every time her eyes had flashed. She had frowned, she had scowled. She had hurt _._ It had come back to him in an aching flood. _Padme_. Though in many ways the two could not have been more different. Still the faint resemblance had proven immobilizing. Though in truth, in Leia he had seen more of himself than in the boy. In the boy he had sensed... _Her._

Yet still the boy he had tested, taunted, gauged his strength and weaknesses, his potential. But with the girl it had proved harder to contemplate hurting her. And only now standing in this very spot did he begin to understand why.

His feet moved, his strong mechanical legs easily carrying them both back up the short bank. A distance that all those years ago, dismembered and burning, might as well have been a steep mountain side. He followed the path of that long-ago fight, retracing it, but taking the easier route. No nonsense theatrics and jumping around like an arrogant fool. He took it back all the way to the beginning. Past fissures spitting fire high into the sky. Past the abandoned shell of the building where the separatist had hidden so cowardly. All the way back to the landing platform. It was still there, though it was rarely used. He certainly never used it.

 _You killed her._

He stopped, staring down at the spot. The image of Padme lying there broken was seared into him forever.

He crouched slowly. Careful not to drop their child, he lay her down carefully. Leia had lain here too, back then. Discarded on the ground like nothing. All of them. Wife. Son. Daughter. Had he succeeded in killing Padme then, no one could have said he hadn't been efficient. All of them in one go. Only single choke. Laying Leia down gently, he touched his hand to the ground where her mother had lain. Then he opened his mouth and spoke a name he had rarely uttered out loud in over 20 years. " _Padme_."

But the voice that reached his ears was not the voice of a lover. The voice of a husband.

Of a _father._

He blinked, feeling the distant dimmed sensation of the smooth surface beneath his metallic palm. His entire family. All of them. Every single one. All dead. And he admitted the truth then, the truth he had always known. That it was all _his_ fault. Not the Emperor, not Obi Wan, not the Jedi. _Him_. Only him. Always him. Gasping he bent his head, sinking fully to his knees head bent.

 _I hate you._

It had been a desperate boy's last cries before the flames had engulfed him. And he hated alright. Hating was the easy part. He hated Obi Wan. He hated the Jedi. He hated the Emperor. But above all of them, he _hated_ that careless boy. The one that unable to control his new-found power, had lashed out on _her._

But she had been breathing. He knew that now. How else could their children possibly have survived?

He clenched his fingers. How could he have known? In his despair and agony, lying broken on that table, he had reached for her. And found nothing. No one. Only endless darkness.

" _Padme_ ," he repeated her name like a litany. " _Luke_ ," at last he called for the boy. His next word a broken hush, as he stared over at his daughter. His dead child lying in the spot he had last seen her mother. " _Leia."_

But no one answered his call. No one could. And now, no one ever would.

He hissed in pain. He was wrong, something could still hurt him after all. Flame was nothing compared to this. He had thought he was done with it all. That he had vanquished all the pain. He thought he had reached the bottom years ago. The absolute limit of what he could endure. But this was it. It had to be. He couldn't possibly fall any further now. He had hit the bottom. The dark side should have swallowed the pain whole by now. But one last stubborn ember flickered still, even though he had tried to vanquish it years ago, it simply refused to die. He made a low guttural sound of despair. He was nothing now. Nothing but metal and blood held together by hatred.

Light flashed again. Dully he lifted his gaze, but he already knew what awaited him.

The boy was standing on the platform. Slung over one slim shoulder was a bag pack. Vader knew there was very little in it. That boy had owned nothing. Nothing but the dusty clothes on his back and a piece of pie his mother had tenderly made for him and wrapped neatly. He remembered that. Though he couldn't remember what it had tasted like. He had forgotten. But in truth what he had truly carried in that backpack. Beyond his clothing, to thin and flimsy for the coldness of space, and the last piece of his mother's cooking. Beyond that, what he had carried in that bag pack had been hope. Why would the apparition even bother to cling onto it? They both knew there was no hope. Not anymore.

"You were right," he choked on the words. _"_ We remember. We have not forgotten. We cannot forget. _Never."_

The boy walked slowly towards him. Like this they were the same height, him on his knees, the boy standing solemn. Just by Leia's head. Though he didn't touch her this time. Didn't offer a comforting hand. For what would be the point? She was dead. As dead as the boy.

Halting in front of him dead blue eyes met his own. No shimmer. No light. Just death. Empty blue eyes. Vacant. Lost. The boy spoke out loud then for the first time ever. His voice clear and strong despite its youthful tone. _"_ Because we do not want to forget. Forget her. Them. To remember is our pain. Our penance."

Vader bent his head. Admitting the truth. His final truth. He whispered. _"I know."_

The boy nodded satisfied. Then he pushed his backpack onto his shoulder turned and began to walk away. Suddenly not wanting to be alone Vader called out to the retreating apparition. "Where are you going?"

The boy halted, blond head tilted back to look at him where he sat, crumpled on the ground.

" _Home_."

"Home?" Vader smiled cruelly behind his mask, laughing at the apparition until his heavy body shook with dark mirth. "Don't you get it by now? You _can't_ go home. There is no home. This–" he lifted his arm towards the red sky, the castle far off in the distance, "is all there is."

The boy only stared absently around at the platform. Then down at the lava, his blue eyes reflecting the red glow. When his gaze at last came to rest on Leia's still form, he shook his head sadly. "No. There is nothing for me here. There never has been."

Beneath that gaze Vader felt shame. Felt his heartbeat. The same one. The one he had always had. Real and painful. He felt is sluggish yet steady thud. Refusing to stop refusing to die. He didn't know why it bothered. It had nothing left to beat for. "When will you get it," he roared, glaring up at the insignificant boy. This weakling. He knew nothing. Understood nothing. "There is no home. I destroyed it, I destroyed her. I destroyed them all! That is what we are. What we do!"

The boy didn't as much as blink faced with his rage. He took a step back towards Vader, his young face unreadable. "You do not possess that kind of power. You never did. Nor you, nor the Emperor." The voice deepened suddenly, changed, sounding more like that of a man than a child, as the apparition shifted and changed, grew large, older, black impenetrable armour replacing thin rags. "You cannot destroy the light, no one can. Not even this place."

Vader looked away with a hiss when two dark boots came into view. Stained with blood. Vader knew that all too well. The blood of men, of children. His own children. _Padme._

When he looked up again, he wasn't surprised to see his own hideous face. His true face. Mask less and exposed. Wrinkled and empty. The apparition lifted the bag pack it was still holding in one gloved hand. It was tiny in comparison now. The phantom cocked his head, blood shot yellow eyes glinting as it studied the small bag. The dead eyes turned back to Vader, tossing the bag down in front of him, its meager content spilling onto the ground. Vader looked at in puzzlement, he had half expected it to be empty. Filled with nothing but air.

" _Remember."_

It was his own dark voice that spoke the word. But it sounded powerful, unlike his real voice which coming from a scorched throat was weak and pathetic without the mask.

Increasingly annoyed Vader rose to his feet, facing his double quietly.

Saying nothing the apparition lifted its hand, palm out pushing Vader with its power, he staggered back a step surprised at the strength of the push. He straightened glaring back. "I said I do, what else do you _want_!"

"It is not enough," The apparition snarled, appearing to talk to itself, shaking its head violently, "It's not enough, it will be not be enough! For what is the point, you are still a child! Selfish and cruel. You will fail, like you always fail." The dark voice trailed off to a whisper, expression darkening when it came to rest at Leia again. Laying abandoned behind them. " _Always_."

Vader's head snapped up, his body coiled ready to pounce. Tired of this he was ready to rip the illusion apart. He narrowed his eyes. "Had you not showed yourself the girl would still be alive!"

Folding its arms, the apparition scoffed. "So, if Obi Wan hadn't shown himself Padme would still be alive? Is that it? Lies," it hissed. "Lies. That is all you ever tell yourself. I only spared her from your further torment. From all the horror you would have exposed her too."

Vader deflated again beneath that steady gaze. He didn't bother denying it, of course he knew. He had always known.

Jaw clenched, the apparition narrowed its eyes at him. Staring at him for a very long time. Then his expression changed, becoming unreadable. Lifting his gauntlet again. "Very well, it will be what it will be."

The push that hit his chest knocked the breath from his broken lungs, pushing him back a step. Towards the edge, towards the flames. He didn't have a chance before that raw unbridled power so much stronger than his own. Stronger than he had ever been. Strong as he could have been, pushed again, sending him spiraling over the edge of the platform. Once he would have clawed his way out, his rage keeping him alive. Now he no longer cared. Not even as the heat began to penetrate his armor.

" _Remember."_

The voice echoed once more within his mind. One last time before the darkness took him.

 **Notes.** This has been on my laptop for ages, thought I would post it. (its not the tragedy it appears to be.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes:** I think I should add a warning to this one, it has smut! Not something I usually write I know, but I go where the story takes me, and this is where it went. Its mild anyways (at least I think so) But if its not your thing, here is the warning.

(And yes yes. I will update Home. I promise)

* * *

The first thing that hit him when he awoke, was all the sensations, assaulting him from every part of his being. It took him a moment to register that he was naked. Whole. Soft fabric sliding across unmarred skin. Air filling his lungs easily. Too easily. Vader sat up in the bed with a gasp, for an instant afraid it wasn't enough. Yet it was. He took a calming breath, letting the air fill him. Gently, steadily. Slowly.

There was a bundle tucked next to him on the large bed, but he refused to look at it. He knew what it was. It was the worst torment of them all, more so than the promise of unmarred skin, and healthy lungs. And he realised a part of him had been waiting for it. From the moment the first vision had appeared. Turning away from the bundle, from temptation, he sat his feet on the floor. The sensation of bare feet on the cold floor welcome.

Tentatively he stretched his limbs. He felt light. His body almost weightless. He supposed it was because he had been weighed down by the suit for so long, he no longer knew his own flesh. The feel of it. Not tight and coarse, but soft and limber. Except for the arm, it was as it had been. A dead thing.

Pulling on his pants, he rose, surprised to find his legs wobble slightly. Unaccustomed as he was to the feel of his own flesh beneath him. A little unsteadily he walked over to the window. It overlooked the garden below. Summer moonshine bathing the trees in a soft silver glow, the lake glittering somewhere in the distance. Naboo. Of course, he should have known the apparition would bring him here. What better place to torment him than this? Here were he had known his greatest happiness.

Towards the end of the war they had a spent a week here before the war had called him back again. The last remembrance of true peace he could recall, had been those days with her. Lying in bed holding her close. Listening to her talk. There had been a new strain in her voice then. A weakness brought on by the never-ending war, of watching the republic she cherished slowly decay and falter.

He had said nothing because there was nothing he could say. Swallowing his own growing bitterness for her sake, he had only pulled her closer, silencing her words with his lips. His body. Drowning her misery with his touch. Yet in the end, all he had done was leave her with more to worry about. He had left her pregnant and not even known it. Young moronic fool that he had been. So, self-centred, and selfish. And she had carried that burden alone for months. Only for him to return and destroy her. To destroy them both. He had brushed her worries aside thinking arrogantly he could protect her against anything. Little had he known then that what she needed to be protected against was _him._

He lowered his head. Behind him he heard _it_ move. It came to stand behind him. A soft hand reached out and caressed the small of his back. He stiffened, torn between wanting to ignore it, or drown himself in its tempting form.

"Ani," it called to him softly. At that he did turn. He didn't want to look at it, but less than that, he didn't want to hear it use her voice. _It_ was only wearing a thin sheet, its naked shoulders bared, exposing the soft curve of its neck. He focused on the shoulder, avoided looking at its throat, at its face.

Naked.

Of course, it was naked, he should have expected as much. His tormentor knew well how to torment him after all. Offering him his own body first, then in the next breath, offering him hers, the ultimate cruelty.

What would be worse, he wondered. Give in? Or push it away. To destroy the apparition. Tear it limb from limb? He took a step back finding it suddenly hard to breathe after all. Apparition or no, he could not do that. He could not hurt her. Not ever again.

He bent his head beneath its penetrating gaze, but it seemed he couldn't help himself after all. He did it. He touched it. A gentle brush of fingers across the soft skin of her shoulder. So soft, so warm it made his fingers tingle. It was holding onto the thin sheet with one hand. Lifting his head, he held its gaze and its dark eyes swallowed him whole. And he knew it then. It had won and he had lost, he was done fighting it.

But the eyes that held his didn't look smug or taunting, but warm and trusting. Years of pain and agony burst from within him. With a quiet groan, he buried his face in its soft throat breathing in the scent of her. But she wasn't truly there. Not really. She was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Snuffed out by his selfishness. He pulled away slightly, drinking in her features. Cupping its face, he indulging himself if only for a moment. Deceiving himself with what could never be. With what he had destroyed. His human thumb caressed its cheek the sensation so exquisite it nearly made him tremble. It felt so much like her. Beyond mere skin and bones, it felt like her presence. Her warm comfort. Just her.

Simply _her._

His greedy hands slowly roamed upwards. Digging his fingers into its soft curls, he roughly tilted its head backwards. It didn't fight him, just rose to meet him, blind trust reflected in those bottomless dark eyes. How he hated it. How he hated himself. Hated the distance, he had put between his body and hers, he pulled it to him again, harder this time. Hands still in its hair, he kissed it, roughly, probably even painfully. The kiss muffled its surprised cry, yet it soon acquiesced, surrendering to his demanding touch, its lips opening beneath his.

Breathing harshly, he briefly broke the kiss to tug impatiently at the sheet until it tumbled to the floor between them, exposing naked flesh. Pale in the moonlight.

It smiled softly up at him but frowned when it caught his harsh expression. "What is it?" it asked, using her voice again. He interrupted the cruel illusion with another harsh kiss. Devouring its lips. It yielded beneath his assault. Clasping her to his chest, he lifted it in his arms, lips not leaving hers. It clasped its legs around his waist as he walked, as if it craved him as much as he did it. As if that was even possible. Reaching the bed, he threw it gently onto the mattress.

It yielded eagerly as he pushed her beneath him. Caressing him, hands roaming tenderly across his starved flesh. But he didn't want tenderness. Gentle caresses. Grabbing her wrists with one hand he trapped her, pinning her to the bed, arms held above her head. Dark eyes barely visible in the moonlight widened at the near violence of it all. Ignoring it he nipped at its neck. For he would take like he always took. With no care for anyone. Pulling at his pants, he freed himself and without thought he pushed into her with a groan. This body, that now felt so strange, so foreign, stirred feelings and emotions, no cyborg could ever possess. Feelings that needed to be satiated.

Yet as he began to move, rocking his body against it just as he would have done hers, it all came back to him in a rush. He felt it shudder against him. Breathlessly gasping into his neck. Legs cradling him just like she had. He sped up. Selfishly. Rough. All too quickly, it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Pleasure. Pleasure he had not known in years. Pleasure he had denied he had even wanted. Yet with it came the familiar sense of self-loathing.

He stared down at her trying to catch his breath, suddenly queasy and ashamed, he released her, though he couldn't bare to move, not yet.

"Anakin," she said softly, gently stroking his forearms her dark brows furrowed. "Your trembling."

Disgusted at himself, at how quickly he had given into his weakness, he didn't answer. He rolled of it and sat up. Turning away he planted his legs firmly on the floor, burying his face in his hands. It didn't help, she was right, he was trembling. He who was feared by all, brought to this.

"Ani," it called after him again, trying to touch him, but he shrugged it off. It sounded forlorn. Lost. Clearly confused at his abruptness. His rejection. He sorted his pants and jumped to his feet before it could catch him. Feeling sick he paced over to the window again.

Clasping his hands behind his back to stop the slight quiver he stared out the window, but this time not truly seeing anything at all. He wasn't at all surprised when he felt its arms slide around his waist hugging him from behind. For an instant he wanted to lash out. Toss the cruel apparition across the room. Along with his self-disgust and self-loathing. But stiffly he held back. Because he couldn't do it. Not even to her shade.

Hissing, he leaned his forehead against the cold glass, his spirit screaming silently in agony. A scream he thought he had silenced decades ago. Or perhaps it had always been there, and all he had succeeded in doing was to drown it out. And faced with her shade, with the children he should have known, it could no longer be silenced.

It moved to stand beside him, hand remaining pressed to his waist. The light from the window just enough to make out her features. He thought about the girl as he gazed down at her upturned face. About the boy. He squeezed his eyes shut laughing bitterly. Beautiful cruelty. Torment. That was what this was. It touched his cheek gently. His breath caught low in his throat. That's when he felt it. What his senses had tried desperately to deny. It jolted through him searing him to his very core. This was no illusion. No phantom. This was real.

This was _her._

His eyes widened in shock and horror. In a hope so fierce it hurt. The deep burst of joy pure agony. She stroked him again. Trustingly. Unaware of who she was touching so gently. _What_ she was touching. Unable to bear it any longer he grabbed her hands.

"Don't! Don't touch me!" he hissed, before giving her a firm push away from him. The walls of the bedroom tightened around him, the world spinning all around him, her shocked face blurring before his eyes. Too many sensations assaulted his senses all at once. Not wanting look at her any longer, he bolted from the room. Running headlong down the stairs, and out into the fresh night air. Across the grass, his lungs burning. But he didn't stop until he reached the lake.

Without thinking, without stopping, he threw himself in, submerging himself in the icy cold water. Not breaking the surface until his lungs screamed for air. Until he could hold it no longer. With a gasp, he breached the surface, spitting water. Opening his eyes, he glared up at the night sky.

"Show yourself," he snarled at the ancient stars. The breeze rushed through the bushes and he could hear the water lapping at his throat. But nothing else, no one else, not until Padme's sweet voice called out to him.

"Ani?"

She was standing alone by the lakeside wrapped in a robe. He stared at her from the swelling dark water. Only when she made as if to enter the lake, did he kick at the water and swam back to shore. Rising the cold clung to him. She looked troubled.

"Ani? What's wrong?" she asked concern lacing her words. Concern for _him_. He fell to his knees before her on the bank, with a sob.

"I…" He stared down at the grass, shivering. His throat closing like a vice.

She gently stroked the wet locks of his hair. It was only then he realised he had any." I don't know what went _wrong_ ," he babbled, feeling his body begin to shake. But not from the cold. He shuddered, desperately clasping a handful of grass with his human hand. "I don't. I really don't. I didn't want any of this to happen!" He looked up at her pleadingly. "Oh, Padme. I didn't. Please believe me, I _didn't_."

She took his trembling hand in hers trying to pull him to his feet. Stubbornly he refused, and she stood no chance in moving him.

Instead he clutched at her hand desperately. "Please," he repeated. "Say you believe me."

She stopped tugging at him, instead squeezing his hand in hers. Her skin warm and soft against his cold. For he was cold. So, very cold.

"I believe you. I believe you," she soothed, though having no idea what he was even talking about. But there it was again. In her eyes. Infinite trust. Blinding love. It had always been there. But in the end, he had been the blind one. He hadn't seen it. He had only seen betrayal and distrust. Even though the traitor he so despised was him. Had always been him.

He drew a harsh shuddering breath. Even though he knew she had no idea what she was supposed to believe, to hear her say it, lifted some of the strain from inside of him. This time when she tugged, he let her lead him. There was a sharp unexpected pain in his foot as he rose, warm liquid trailing down his toes. He must have cut himself on a rock in his mad flight.

She led him back to the house her hand warm in his. Movements steady. He followed her willingly. Letting her take him wherever she pleased. She led him inside, down dark corridors to the room where he had first professed his love for her. Earnest then. Naive.

"I'll get the sofa wet," he said dully, though he had no idea why that of all things should matter.

"It will dry, "she replied.

Depositing him on the sofa she went over to the fireplace, stirring the dormant embers to life with a small fire poker until the fire blazed. Chasing away the night's long shadows, it crackled. He stared absently into the flames. He could feel the heat from here. His cold body welcoming what made his mind shudder in revulsion.

Returning she wrapped him in a blanket. That's when she noticed the bloody footprint. "Your bleeding," she exclaimed.

"It's nothing, "he replied dully. He looked back at her. The same firelight caressed her face, the rosy glow from the fire put colour in her cheeks. She looked young, alive. She ruffled his hair fondly again.

"You always say that. Wait here." She left the room. Behind him the fire hissed and popped. The flickering flames were hypnotic, gentle, and enticing. The blue from the flame cast a gentle light in the room. Not harsh and cruel.

It appeared quite beautiful.

Her touch on his leg broke the spell. He lifted his gaze from the fire to her. Seated beside him she had taken his foot in her lap and was cleaning the cut. Steadily she cared for him. Not saying a word. As if she knew speech was beyond him. His foot twitched. The pain dull. But real. Her touch _real._ The flame flickered across her face making the shadow dance. Her beauty more staggering then any flame.

His body stirred again. Starved for what it hadn't had in so long. Touch. Her touch. Sex. Real food. Laughter. Joy. The absence of pain. He had not allowed himself to dwell on it. Any of it. For what would be the point? To mourn over what was lost forever. What he had thrown away. Her. Himself. Everything. Everyone.

"Did I hurt you earlier?" he asked cautiously, ashamed, looking down at his human fingers. Marvelling at the feeling. "I was...rough, ". His throat felt raw and hoarse as if he had been shouting. Though he had barely spoken a word. The sound of his own soft voice another thing that was unfamiliar.

She looked up from her task. "I am alright." She smiled at him affectionately. Warmth shining in her eyes. But when she caught his dark expression, her smile faded, and she looked puzzled. She gave his ankle a soft squeeze. "Of course, you didn't hurt me Ani. "

 _Of course._ He swallowed. Shame engulfing him. She trusted him completely. If she only knew. He wanted to withdraw from her touch. To shrink away.

She noticed frowning. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied quickly. A little too quickly. She searched is eyes for another moment before she returned to her task. Brows furrowed in concentration, she tended to his injury so tenderly. He had forgotten this. Not only how to love. But how it felt to _be_ loved.

She wrapped his foot in a bandage. Finally, releasing him. She moved closer to him, touching his knee.

"Anakin," she asked quietly," What did you see?" She was wise to him now, to his tormented nightmares and visions. And he realised she took this as just another bad dream.

He almost laughed; his hands still trembled slightly as he stared down at his palms. If this was real, then he hadn't done it. He hadn't done any of it. But he could still feel it. The blood on his hands. The dreams. The terror. Being burned alive. The agony of her death. Their children.

He forced his body to still, faking a smile as he finally dared to look at her. His hand didn't shake as he reached out and caressed her face, but he could only hope she didn't feel his hammering heartbeat. "It was only a nightmare, "he lied, "It's over now. It's all over." _Please_ _,_ _let it be over now._

She stared at him for a long time before she nodded, though clearly not convinced she didn't press the issue. And he felt thankful, if she prodded him now it would all come exploding outwards in an uncontrolled rush. And he didn't trust himself. And the last thing he would ever wish to see again, beyond her dead body, was her fear.

He reached forward, releasing her hair from its hurriedly tied bun. Loose curls fell about her shoulders. He twined one between his finger and thumb feeling the soft strands. It had been hanging loose the last time he had seen her. Lying cold on that slab. So beautiful, so dead. Although she said nothing, concern still swelled in her gaze, twisting in his gut. He felt the unfamiliar, forgotten sting of tears press against his eye lids. He clenched his teeth to press them back, puffing air hard through his nostrils. He let the strands fall dropping his gaze. As it became harder and harder to breathe. His chest tight. A pressure closing in on his lungs.

She moved then, stroking his back in a warm familiar circle. Round and round, but her touch did little to ease him. It all became tighter. Harder. Clenching around him. In him. But pushing her away was beyond him. He shuddered heaving for breath. Suddenly familiar anger flared inside of him, another darker voice, annoyed at his weakness. He drew on it, on decades of discipline to still his pumping heart. Feeling the blessed relief when breath finally came.

Padme was staring at him anxiously, but before she could speak, he forced another fake smile. Calmer now. Pushing the rage back down so she wouldn't see it, wouldn't know. "I am alright." The lie came easier this time. He rose, his feet were steadier now, he clasped her hand in his and led her to back to bedroom.

They did it again. Slower this time. It wasn't about desire or even lust but a desperate need to be close. As close as humanly possible. Close enough to make her every breath his own. Afterwards he found himself unable to let go of her. Stroking his finger in a path up her hip. Her slender waist. Arm. Shoulder. Everything. She let him hold her, pull her tight. Somehow instinctively knowing he needed her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips.

Facing him she laced her small hands around his neck. For a moment he thought she would choke him. Give him what he truly deserved. And that this was all a lie. A nightmare. And now was the time for payment. But she only massaged him softly, brows furrowed slightly. "Was it that bad?" she asked softly, her finger gentle.

He did speak then, as much as he dared, leaning his forehead against hers, he let out a breath. "I saw a galaxy without light. A galaxy without you."

She stroked his hair, the weight of her naked body pressed against him was a blessing. A gift to precious for words.

"I am not going anywhere, "she murmured sleepily, as she curled up next to him.

She slept in his arms. He didn't sleep a wink. Afraid that if he closed his eyes, even just for a moment, he would open them and find himself back in his meditation chamber. Alone. Weighed down by a loneliness so deep it was enough to suffocate any man. No debilitating injury needed. It had never been needed. So instead he just lay there listening to her breathe. Quiet and steady. He let his hand stroke her hair, her cheek. Unable to stop the light tremble. His chest expanding. She stirred a little during the night, his only reaction was to pull her closer.

At one time she awoke chuckling sleepily. "Ani, you actually have to let me breathe."

He stiffened, abruptly letting her go, he rolled onto his back. Suppressing a desire to push her away. Far enough away from him to be safe. Staring up at the barely visible ceiling he listened to her breathing, until he couldn't take it anymore.

He rose and headed for the bathroom. Splashing cold water in his face. The face that looked back at him in the mirror was the face of a stranger. The face of a dead man. A man he had hated for over two decades. But it was also the face of the man she loved. A man he no longer knew, a man he didn't want to know. For that man, this man, he had hurt her. Turned on her like a rabid animal. He stepped away from the mirror. In that moment preferring his scars. At least they were honest.

"Are you alright?" Padme called softly from the bed as he re-entered the bedroom. She was sitting on the bed watching him anxiously.

Inside him his gut twisted. A darker part of him urging him to stay. _Take her, it hissed. She is yours. She has always been yours._

"I am leaving for Coruscant," he said flatly. Not wanting to look at her he began to dress.

"So soon?" Padme immediately began to pull her nightdress on. He caught a glimpse of her naked skin and swallowed. How easy it would be to stay. To indulge. But he had fed his selfishness once before and it had cost her everything. It was better for everyone involved he kept his distance.

"But you have one day left." Her dark hair was all tousled. She came to him, hugging him she leaned her head on his chest. "What's the hurry?" She leaned back so he could she her eyes. "Has something happened? It's not your dream is it?"

His rigid body instinctively responded to hers, wanting to draw her close. By will alone he did not surrender to its pull.

"No." Was all he could say. "I received an urgent message. I must go. "

Her face fell. But she touched his chest. "I understand. But at least stay until the morning. And eat something before you go."

"It's almost dawn. And I am not hungry." To not arouse suspicion, he relaxed his features and kissed her forehead.

She sighed contentedly at his touch. "Are you sure you are all right though? After your behaviour I– "

He cut her off. "It was just a bad dream. Like you said. It just felt very real for a moment." He forced himself to smile. "But I am awake now. And you are safe." He cupped her cheek. And he would make sure she stayed that way. Even if it meant leaving her behind. Finally, he let her go. "You get some more rest we will we see each other soon," he lied.

Padme frowned. Clearly still troubled. He felt her gaze follow him as he tried not to hurry from the room. It was best this way.

But his stubborn wife was having none of it, she caught his by the arm, pulling him back around. "Please stay and eat something, just a little bit. You don't take good enough care of yourself," she pleaded softly.

It was the worry in her eyes that finally convinced him. He had to act normal until, whatever that was." Alright I'll stay. Then unable to help himself he kissed her." I… "he began. _I what?_ _I love you?_ Well he did. Always had. But it had become a distant thing, like a memory. Yet no less true. "I love you." he said it then. He wanted her to know.

"I love you too," she took his hand smiling. Trying best to hide a flicker of concern. "And you will eat."

He relented.

Padme put him in the garden, seated by a small table they had often used. He gazed absently down at his plate. All the things he had loved to eat laid out before him. It should taste euphoric. Not like gravelly sand scraping down a dry and broken throat. He took a bite. It still tasted like ashes. He pushed his plate away, regretting he had let her convince him to stay. It was dangerous for her to keep him so close. He should leave, he should leave now.

"Please won't you eat something?" she asked with a worried frown. He gave her a dull look. "Tell me something," he said coolly leaning back in his chair, folding his arms. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Bother me?" she asked hesitantly trying to reach for his hand where it still rested on the table, he pulled it away. She looked hurt. He ignored it. Better her annoyed at him, then dead.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Retreating slightly, she rested her hands in her lap.

" _Me_ ," he practically snarled. She sat back startled now. Good perhaps she was finally beginning to understand what he was, what kind of _man_ she had married.

"Does none of it bother you? What happened on Tatooine. What happened with Clovis?" He leaned closer." For someone so smart you are incredibly stupid sitting here with a _man_ like me." He abruptly rose to his feet smacking the table with his metallic palm. "When you know what I am capable of!"

She gazed at him, though visibly startled she held his gaze. An uncomfortable expression on her face. "Of course, it does," she said quietly. "But it will get better with time. When the war is over when you're not suffering under so much strain."

The table began to shake. He scoffed. "Love truly has blinded you."

Undeterred by his rage she did as she always did. She rose and came to him. His foolish trusting wife. He closed his eyes in agony. Drawing a harsh breath. Too much, too fast. She touched his chest, his brow. "Whatever it is will get through it together." He opened his eyes gazing down at her. Still she didn't see. Still she didn't understand.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the truth. You would turn away in horror. In fact, you should!"

Her frown only deepened. He grabbed her kissing her harshly to shut her up before she spoke again. He was tempted to have her on the table. To take her there roughly. Show her just what kind of animal he truly was.

But instead he pushed her forcefully away. His plate flew of the table. Crashed into a nearby flowerpot, scattering food as it went. Padme gave it a startled glance. Gritting his teeth, he turned and left her there.

Later she found him by the water. No doubt hoping time would cool his temper. Had it? Once he thought nothing could. Now he didn't know anymore.

He had taken his boots off submerging his feet in the cold water. Ignoring the sting in his cut, relishing the feeling of lapping water through his toes. Sitting down beside him on a rock she removed her own small shoes. Dipping her feet in the water next to his. He didn't move away when she scooted closer, her shoulder brushing up against his arm. Instead he kept staring forward. Out on to the still shadowed lake. Shameful tears clogged at his throat. But he did not cry.

"It does bother me…" she began after a while. Her voice quiet, perhaps a little uncertain. As if she didn't know quite where to begin. Her feet threaded the water creating soft waves, rippling across the lake. "To watch you change. Sometimes what I see in your eyes… well it frightens me."

His heart tightened in his chest, as he cast a glance over at her. She was staring down at the water her head slightly bowed as if she was ashamed of her own words. That only made him feel worse. He hadn't known he had ever made her feel that way. Not until the end.

"I wasn't…" he began, then shook his head correcting himself. "I'm not, the man I want to be. That I should be."

She looked up at him, then carefully brushed a lock of his too long hair away from his face, her soft fingers caressing his brow. "But you are the man I love. No matter what."

He closed his eyes, leaning desperately into that touch, wanting so much to believe that. At the same time hating himself for still being that selfish. And knowing it for the lie it was. "You don't know what you are saying," he whispered. Gently removing her hand, he opened his eyes. "What you see in my eyes should frighten you. And I don't want it anywhere near you."

"That," she began, tilting her chin, and he saw their daughter there, as clear as day," is not up to you." She grabbed his hand back, clutching it stubbornly. "I chose you then, and I still choose you now. Moody and all. And I know you will find your way out of whatever troubles you in the end. I _know_ it, even if you don't."

She looked so earnest, he swallowed hard, but didn't not pull his hand away. Wishing he had her faith in him, but he had long since lost his faith in himself.

They watched the dawn together. Hand in hand. Her calm presence a balm to his soul. And he, filled to the brim with a hope so deep he barely dared breathe, let alone move. Padme said nothing. Only shared the silence. Until the first vibrant rays of the sun caressed his cheek in a gentle greeting. Vibrant and alive. But within him the shadow of fear still flickered, the same terror that had already destroyed him once, and he tightened his grip on Padme`s hand. If this was real, and he wasn't dead. He knew he wasn't safe. And neither was she.


End file.
